Camellia
by lightinside
Summary: Camellia Evans has been in hiding for thirteen years, awaiting the inevitable call to arms she knew she would one day receive. The call comes sooner than expected. When a letter arrives informing her of Voldemort's impending return, she must make a choice between what is right and what is easy. Will Camellia return to Hogwarts to help her nephew? Or will she disappear?
1. Chapter 1

**PART ONE**

 **\- "we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy."-**

 **xxx**

 **00 | the letter**

 **xxx**

1994 was supposed to be different.

Camellia Evans repeated that phrase in her head over and over until the words seemed meaningless; until it no longer sounded comprehensible. All the phrase was now, she thought, was noise - something absent from the quiet life that she had led over the last fifteen years.

Camellia sat staring at her pale daffodil walls, wondering for a long while what anything other than this felt like. What would it be to truly feel different? Camellia tried to remember the sensation of calm as she had felt it when she was too young to appreciate it. Did those words have the same meaning as before? _Calm_ and _different_ were one thing, but Camellia didn't dare utter the word _normal_ in connection to her own circumstances. In Camellia's thirty-two years of life, _never_ had she been so lucky as to have anything be normal.

Here Camellia sat with a letter clutched in trembling hands, a tangible link to her past. She stared at the familiar scrawl that appeared to have been hurriedly etched over nearly two pages. And as she did so, a terrible sense of foreboding fell over her that made her very bones quiver. The world Camellia had once known had become a prison. She had finally escaped, but now the things Camellia had fled might as well have shown up on her doorstep. It was everything she could do to remain sitting – to keep herself from frantically packing up her belongings and disappearing into the night.

The disappearing act had worked well enough the first time. Camellia had had no choice. She had followed orders to the best of her ability and had kept herself safe, waiting for the right time to resurface.

Despite the overwhelming feeling of unreality, this moment had always been coming for Camellia. Maybe some part of her had thought it would never catch up to her. But here it was, and this time it was inescapable. Camellia took a deep breath that didn't quite fill her lungs, and read the ominous words again.

 **xxx**

 _Camellia,_

 _Though I am no longer a captive in body, my heart and my spirit lay ever with your nephew Harry. It is because of this that I write to you now. This world of ours that you so wisely chose to leave will soon be set ablaze, and I fear very greatly that Lord Voldemort is making his return at last._

 _The only proof to be found is in the word of Harry himself and in this clipping that I enclose – the depiction of something I well know you will not thank me for recalling to your mind. Camellia, try as we might to forget, now is the time to remember._

 _Now is the time to prepare._

 _The school has been selected to host the Triwizard Tournament in a handful of days. My scant resources tell me that Igor Karkaroff will be in attendance, leading the competitors from Durmstrang. Karkaroff may pose no threat to your nephew. However, you well know that if Voldemort is indeed rising, there is no place in this world that is safe for Harry._

 _I urge you, my friend, to write to the Headmaster. Write to him and make my suspicions your own. If he is the man I well remember, he will extend to you an invitation without hesitation. And if indeed I know him as I think I do, I can say with assurance that your invitation is on its way even as you read this missive. His timing has always been extraordinarily uncanny._

 _Know also, Camellia, that Peter Pettigrew is alive. And if my fears are correct and Harry's dreams are not dreams at all, but visions, I know that Peter will be a main player in the deadly game that is yet ahead of us. I wish now I had ended his life when given the chance, but Harry elected to spare him. The reasons the boy gave for his actions are those I have not the wisdom of character to exhibit myself. It is not often we are afforded the option of exhibiting such morality when our world is in such a state as it was. Camellia, those times are again upon us._

 _When at last you meet the boy, you will be proud. Of this I am certain. I am confident also, Camellia, that your return to our world will be celebrated by those who knew you so many years ago - even by Harry, though he does not yet know your face._

 _Be brave, Camellia. For the sake of your life, be aware. May good fortune find you._

 _All my well wishes and truest affection,_

 _Padfoot_

 **xxx**

Camellia stared at the signature with unseeing eyes. Padfoot. Sirius Black. Harry's godfather and her longtime friend. So much information lay within such a short letter that Camellia could hardly process Sirius' urgent words. Voldemort was returning. Peter Pettigrew was alive.

And her nephew was in grave danger.

Camellia gathered the courage to finally turn the letter over so as to examine the enclosed clipping. In the momentary respite between the front of the page and the back, Camellia felt a small prickle of hope bloom in her.

Maybe it wouldn't be there. Maybe she was allowing her imagination get away from her. Sirius could be making something out of nothing at all. And then, her hope vanished. There it was. Something akin to terror twisted Camellia's stomach and she felt she would be profoundly sick. This letter was the physical manifestation of all the nightmares that had run rampant through her mind for so many long years. Camellia closed her eyes, trying to ward off the nausea that threatened to consume her, and swallowed her terror as best as she could despite her cotton mouth.

 _Be brave_ , Sirius had written. If Sirius only knew the coward she had become, Camellia was certain he would be ashamed of her. Living in fear was something she now did well – it was routine. It was familiar. Stepping out of her house, leaving her street, _going home_ , those things felt foreign, impossible. Knowing that an "invitation" was probably on its way to her doorstep as her mind reeled was enough to send her into a panic.

Camellia took one last look at the pages in her hands and stood on legs that she couldn't quite feel. She walked unsteadily to the fireplace. Camellia listened as the ravenous flames consumed the wood, causing it to crack and shrivel until it turned to ash. And then . . . she tossed the letter into the fire. There was something satisfying about the way the paper smoked and curled. The flames, licking first blue and then orange, devoured the words that threatened to send her world crashing about her ears.

Camellia wished desperately to give her fear over to the fire and have it too reduced to ash. But scars such as the ones that she bore were not so easily cast aside. They were etched on her skin as dark as the ink on the pages she had burned. One mark in particular, she thought, was the darkest of them all.

She closed her eyes.

She counted to ten.

And then there was a noise – the sound of flame being extinguished in a matter of seconds. Ash and soot exploded from inside the fireplace onto the rug in front of it. Camellia knew what came next. It was what _always_ came next. A rather large barn owl swooped deftly down her chimney and into the room. With a muffled hoot, the magnificent creature dropped the envelope he carried in his beak into Camellia's hands. His mission accomplished, the owl landed on her coffee table as though it were any other day and this was just some letter.

But it wasn't just another day, not to Camellia. And it wasn't just an ordinary letter. This was _the_ letter. A violent shiver snaked its way down her spine as Camellia gazed at the large red wax seal bearing the name of the place that she both missed and was loathe to return to - _Hogwarts_.

Camellia braced herself and flipped the letter over, thinking that perhaps a mistake had been made. But once she clapped eyes on her name, she knew this wasn't a mistake; this was reality.

Camellia sucked in another ragged breath that again helped nothing much at all and tore open the envelope before her courage fled. She was surprised by what she found, since indeed she had been expecting a lengthy letter. The brevity of the missive was stunning. Inside was a single cut of parchment with four words written on it with much care.

 _The time is now_.

Camellia looked from the letter to the owl that was now watching her with curious eyes, seeming to be wondering what decision she would come to, much as she was. Would she stand and fight, as she once wanted to? Or would she ignore what was right, forsake her _nephew_ , and run?

Camellia slid the parchment back into the envelope hesitantly before glancing toward the semi-empty suitcase that she had taken to keeping by the door. She turned away from it before the idea of packing it could appeal to her beyond reason. Camellia made the slow walk down the hallway before turning left at the end and entering her bedroom. It was a small, modest affair with splashes of green and silver here and there. After all, Camellia's school pride had never quite gone to its grave. She made her way past the unmade bed and across the room where the closet door was always slightly ajar in silent invitation.

Camellia grasped the door handle and pulled, ignoring the way the ominously creaking hinges echoed the doubts in her mind. She turned on the light and reached up toward the shelf that she swore she would never again acknowledge. Her fingers brushed blindly along the wood until, finally, they came into contact with an elongated box. Camellia grasped it and pulled it down from its perch with careful, precise movements. She swept the dust away that seemed to coat the box in layers. The burgundy color of the box peered through the dust and grime almost shyly, as if surprised by the fresh air. Camellia deftly turned the box on its side and pried it open.

And there, still oddly unchanged by the many years of neglect, lay her wand. Cypress, she recalled dimly, with a core of dragon heartstring. Twelve inches, slightly springy. If Camellia were to close her eyes, she could still remember the atmosphere of the shop where she first held that wand. Ollivander's.

But Camellia had no time for sentiment. She recalled something Dumbledore had once said to her right after Lily and James had been put to rest.

 _"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."_

Camellia reached out and gently plucked the wand out of its box. She had been so consumed by the loss of her sister that she had forgotten how to live, but the moment that her fingers curled around her wand, she realized that she wanted desperately to remember. She wanted to be in Harry's life. The magic that Camellia had held at bay for so long awakened, sparking in her skin and binding her to the wand in her hand like the moon to the pull of the tides. It was a strange sensation, like being reunited with an old friend. And the longer she allowed herself to hold it, the more Camellia entertained thoughts that _did not_ involve running away. With a sigh of resignation, she knew what it was that she had to do.

She had to go back.


	2. Chapter 2

**xxx**

 **01 | the headmaster's request**

 **xxx**

Camellia Evans had shooed the weary barn owl on its way hours ago following a short rest and a treat. The bird had soared away with a letter of Camellia's own grasped resolutely in its beak. In the letter was her reply – her agreement to the summons. It was too late to retract her words, however much she wished to. And in the back of her mind, Camellia realized faintly that her reaction was something of a habit. Running away from danger was a reflex, one that she could indulge no longer. Bracing herself for the reply that would no doubt soon arrive, she raced about her small house and gathered what she could. Books, clothes, and the potions she had stored away in case of an emergency; all these things seemed trivial in light of what she had just learned. Yet, Camellia knew that if she hadn't had something to keep her busy, she would go mad.

Going back to Hogwarts would be something of an ordeal for her, for Camellia knew that only a handful of the staff even knew that she still lived. Dumbledore had wisely hidden her away after Voldemort murdered her sister and her husband, James Potter, and had sent Harry to live with her sister Petunia to whom she hadn't spoken in years. Camellia knew Petunia was undeniably horrid and that she had undoubtedly enjoyed devoting every spare moment of her time to making Harry's existence a miserable one. But Camellia couldn't have saved Harry from that. Amongst the muggles was where he had been safe, but that time had come and gone. He wasn't safe anymore. And if Harry had indeed come to live with Camellia, they would both have been dead within weeks. Her former acquaintances would have made sure of that.

She glanced down at her left arm in a moment of fleeting, regretful curiosity. The Mark shuddered and writhed under the surface of her skin as if shaking itself free from a long sleep. Camellia tasted the bile as it began to rise in her throat. This Mark, this _brand_ , cruelly reinforced the knowledge that she was in servitude to another. When the outline had begun to return several weeks before, Camellia realized that something was happening - something much bigger than her. The return of the Dark Lord, however, was the thing that she had least expected. Not this soon.

Camellia recalled the headline of the clipping Sirius had sent with his letter. _Terror at the Quidditch World Cup_. In the sky, there had appeared a mark much like the one that marred her left arm. This one differed in that, as it took its rightful form, it moved fluidly, ominously. Camellia remembered the way it seemed even to _breathe_. With a violent shudder, she dropped the books in her hands. Instead of leaning over to pick them up, Camellia drew her wand and opened her mouth to send them to her suitcase.

A loud _pop_ interrupted her, and there were suddenly two other people in her living room. The first, Camellia recognized to be Minerva McGonagall, her former Transfiguration professor. The other, she realized with a shock, was her former classmate, Severus Snape. He looked exactly as he had when Camellia first set eyes on him at the tender age of seventeen. He was a very tall man with jet-black, fairly greasy, shoulder length hair that hung about his face like a curtain and served to make his features more severe. He had a long, hooked nose and lips that would have been fuller had he not been pressing them together into near nonexistence. Camellia found, however, that this only added character to his face. Severus' obsidian eyes scrutinized her with only the faintest trace of alarm, flitting from her hair to her eyes and then back again. It was then that she remembered the red hair and the green eyes that Severus had loved so fiercely in their school days – the hair and eyes of her sister.

Camellia dropped her gaze to the floor in disappointment. This is what it would be like at Hogwarts. All the people who had known and loved her sister would see _through_ her and remember instead someone else entirely.

"Ms. Evans," McGonagall began with a soft clearing of her throat. "We've come to take you back to Hogwarts. I'm sure that you received –"

"The letter." Camellia said demurely, nodding her head. "Yes, I did."

"Good. I knew that you must have for the Headmaster to send us to fetch you so soon," she said with a heavy sigh. Camellia noticed with some regret that McGonagall had lost some of the previous vigor that she once possessed. She seemed overwhelmingly exhausted and it rang true in every syllable that she uttered. It was understandable, Camellia supposed, since the entire world was going to hell in a hand-basket. _Again_.

McGonagall then gestured to Severus with a smile that seemed to be testing the waters in which she was about to tread. "Do you remember Severus, Camellia?" She inquired politely, attempting to relieve some of the tension that had pervaded the room. "He teaches Potions now at the school. Albus is deciding which of the Professors would be most willing to take you under their wing as an assistant."

Ignoring the snort of derision that escaped Severus, Camellia forced herself to smile civilly back at McGonagall. "I don't want to be a burden," she said, and glanced at the Potions master. "I am not surprised to hear that you teach Potions now, Severus. You always did have a knack for it."

He said nothing at all in response to her attempt to break the ice between them, and Camellia felt more alone and stranger than ever. She wished he would look at her again – _acknowledge_ her. But after the events that had unfolded between Severus and Lily, and the abuse that he received at the hands of James and his friends, she doubted if she would be lucky enough to receive the occasional greeting.

"Nonsense." McGonagall said breezily, waving off her worries with a flick of her wrist. "If no one else will have you, I would be more than happy to allow you to sit in on my classes. I recall your being adept with Transfiguration among a great many other things. Potions included."

Camellia felt her entire face, ears and all, flush as if someone had set her hair ablaze. She swallowed quickly, trying to ignore the pointed statement that McGonagall had clearly thrown in for the benefit of her former classmate. Camellia turned back to her suitcase, forgetting the books that lay in the floor, and snapped it shut.

"Is that all you have?" McGonagall asked her, arching a singular brow at the small amount of luggage that Camellia had in her arms. "Once you return to the school, you will not be able to collect any more of your things until the end of the Tournament. I'm afraid it wouldn't be safe."

"This is all I need." Camellia assured her quietly, still avoiding Severus' eye.

The Transfiguration professor nodded in resignation and extended her arm. "Well, shall we go and let you meet your nephew then?"

Camellia ignored the way her heart began to hammer painfully against her ribs and managed a weak nod of her head. With her suitcase in one hand, she reached out to take McGonagall's arm. In an instant, they were gone.

 **xxx**

Camellia had forgotten what it felt like to Apparate. It was one of the most used methods of magical transportation. It was certainly the quickest, and there had indeed been a time when Camellia had preferred it above all else. But that had been years ago. The first time she ever Apparated, she had deposited herself and her recently consumed lunch on the floor of Sirius Black's living room. After that, Camellia had developed a healthy tolerance for Apparition. Now, however, she dropped her suitcase on the floor of Albus Dumbledore's office and slumped over. Camellia was all too aware of the fact that her stomach was twisting and her lungs felt like they'd been ripped to shreds. She deduced correctly that her tolerance had worn off from many years of disuse.

"Oh, dear." McGonagall murmured from several paces away. "I had forgotten what Apparition does to first-timers."

"Not my first time." Camellia managed to tell her. "Just haven't done it in years."

"However long it has been," came a new voice, "it does not surprise me that you still follow instructions to the letter, Camellia Evans."

Camellia forced herself to stand up straight and pressed her shaking hands against her jeans. She looked toward the large claw-foot desk that hadn't changed since she was last in this very room. It was large and circular and always full of curious knickknacks and sounds, including the soft, gentle snoring that came from the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses. Dumbledore sat at his desk with his hands folded under his chin, deep in thought. Sitting on a crooked shelf behind him was a very shabby brown hat that Camellia realized with a sudden burst of fondness to be the Sorting Hat.

"Hello, Albus." Camellia greeted weakly. "It _has_ been a very long time. Professor McGonagall says that you were the one who sent the letter I received this evening." She watched Dumbledore carefully, noting how visibly he had begun to age. His face was haggard, his hair now totally white. The last fifteen years had taken their toll on everyone, she supposed. Camellia knew that she didn't look the same by any stretch of the imagination; she didn't feel the same, either.

"I did." Dumbledore mused, arching a snowy eyebrow. "And yet, it seems to me that somehow you are not very surprised."

Camellia swallowed thickly. If any of them knew that she was in contact with Sirius well after his escape from Azkaban and even now as he evaded the Ministry, he would certainly be a dead man. "I suppose it had to happen one day." She said simply. "Am I wrong?"

There was a long pause that hung over the room like that of bated breath. Camellia's heart raced as she thought that Dumbledore might have seen straight through her. He had always been able to see people for what they were. All but one. "No, you are not wrong. Do you know why I called you here?"

"No," she lied. "I don't."

McGonagall put a hand on Camellia's shoulder in what Camellia thought to be a rare and quite remarkable show of sympathy. "You ought to sit down." Her old professor said. Her tone of voice was reminiscent of one a person might use to speak to a wounded animal in order to calm it.

"I think I'll stand." Camellia insisted, eyeing McGonagall's hand until it dropped away from her. She turned her gaze toward Dumbledore, nearly forgetting that Severus still lingered in the corner of the room. He hadn't said a word all this time. He wasn't much of a conversationalist, she knew, but that still didn't explain why he was present. If this had to do with Harry, why was he _here_? "What is this about, Albus? Is this about Harry?"

"We will come to Harry in a moment," the Headmaster promised. Camellia felt the incapacitating fear crop up within her again. If this hadn't anything to do with Harry, then what was it? Why did Camellia suddenly feel that she had been cornered? "First, there is an issue I must address with which I know you will not be compliant."

"Then, why bother asking?" Camellia hissed through clenched teeth. She heard herself speak, heard the hostility in her voice, but didn't recant.

"It is a matter of some importance." Dumbledore insisted. "I'm sure that by now you must be aware of Voldemort's gathering strength."

"But he hasn't returned." Camellia blurted. "Why should we speak of this if he hasn't yet returned?"

"He will." Severus spoke up then, causing Camellia to swivel around so that she might see him properly. He was closed off and almost severe as he continued speaking, each word emphasized horrifically by the simple truth of what lay ahead. "The Dark Lord will rise again and whether it is today or next year, there is no sense pretending it will not happen."

Camellia thought of the letter from Sirius that she had burned. He had referred to Harry's dreams, his "visions." Did they know about them?

"What indication do you have as of this moment?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and motioned toward McGonagall. "Minerva, I think that it is best if you make your way to the Great Hall now. This conversation is one that Camellia might appreciate being more private."

It wasn't until McGonagall nodded and had completely exited the room that the conversation resumed. But it wasn't Dumbledore who spoke first. "Is the return of the Mark on your arm not indication enough?" Severus questioned flatly.

Camellia jerked her arm out of view without thinking. "How could you –" She stopped abruptly, staring open-mouthed at Severus as if she had just remembered something of great importance. "Of course." Camellia said. "It was you. You gave him the Prophecy. I should have bloody well known since you aspired for so long to belong to that group of _sadists_."

"And how was it, I wonder, that _you_ managed to join his ranks?" Severus seemed to be challenging Camellia, implying that she had betrayed Lily for the sake of protecting her. A foolish notion which had failed entirely when Peter Pettigrew betrayed Lily and James out of fear.

"You weren't the only one well-versed in the Dark Arts, Severus." Camellia snapped. "And, unfortunately for me, the Dark Lord is inexplicably intrigued by those who overcome their Blood Status to such an extent that they manage to be put in Slytherin. I was the only Muggle Born of my year, perhaps the last _fifty_ , to be placed in Slytherin. I was something of a riddle to him, ironically enough. And the only reason _I_ joined his ranks was because I was asked to do so by..." Camellia fell silent at once, turning back toward the Headmaster. Her face was contorted in terror, frozen in accusation. "No."

"I did say that you would not be compliant, if I recall." Dumbledore began, but Camellia cut him off.

"Absolutely _not_. Did you really call me here to ask me to be your spy?" She shrieked. "I did that once, Albus. I sold my soul for you, for her, and I'll not be doing it again. I won't go back. He'll kill me this time. Do you really think the fact that I didn't look for him will go unpunished? The fact that I am the only one out of all of his followers that isn't of half or pure blood? My loyalty was constantly called into question, Albus. No matter what I did, it was always called into question."

"Either way, Camellia, he _will_ call for you." Albus said, his voice as even as it had ever been. "When he makes his return, he will call for you because Harry lives. He'll expect that you've been with the boy. And if you admit that you have not, he will want to know why. I will need you to tell him. Tell him that you have been keeping watch over the boy from afar and that you will continue to do so through the position that I have offered –"

" _No_." Camellia said again. "You can't ask this of me. You can't ask me to put Harry's life on the line like that for the sake of a bit more information. I was never in the inner circle of the Dark Lord. Severus was, I imagine. I don't see you asking _him_ to be a spy."

Dumbledore hesitated. "You see, Camellia, after I sent you away, Severus _did_ turn spy for us. For the Order. And he will do so again when Voldemort returns."

"So, what use am I to you, then?" She asked. "If Severus is already willing to be your puppet, why should I be forced to?"

"Voldemort may tell you things that he does not share with Severus. In turn, he may tell Severus things he is not willing to share with you - not until you establish yourself well enough to be promoted to his inner circle."

Camellia scoffed humorlessly. "And how am I to do that?"

"Peter Pettigrew is rumored to be helping the Dark Lord regain his strength," Dumbledore said. However, he offered no more in the way of an explanation as to from where those rumors originated. "I want you to find him. And I want you to help him."


	3. Chapter 3

**xxx**

 **02 | the encounter**

 **xxx**

Camellia stared at Dumbledore open-mouthed for a long moment that seemed to stretch into oblivion. Her breathing hitched and her heart pounded against her ribs with such insistence that Camellia thought they might crack. She noticed that each beat seemed to echo a particular word; _run, run, run, run, run_. Camellia waited for Dumbledore to smirk, to do _anything_ that might indicate that she was the victim of a cruel joke. Surely, he wasn't serious. Surely, he didn't mean it.

"I'm sorry." She managed. "I don't think I heard you correctly."

Dumbledore frowned, pity evident in his normally mirthful eyes. "I'm rather afraid you did," the Headmaster asserted. "And before you decide against it, I do wish –"

"Are you out of your mind?" Camellia shouted, causing Severus to raise a brow. "You want me to help the man who betrayed my sister nurse the demon who murdered her back to health? Are you _insane_? I always have had the utmost respect for you, Albus, _always_. But now you've gone much too far."

"Perhaps you may be able to stay out of the way of things, hmm?" Dumbledore suggested, completely ignoring her outburst. Camellia wasn't sure if she were relieved that he chose not to acknowledge it or if she were angered further by it. Her blood boiled beneath her skin, every bone in her body aching for a fight. However, Camellia would not get one. Not here. "Think about it, Camellia. I am not asking you to hover around Peter day after day. Merely, perhaps, drop the occasional helpful hint. Do you not think that this would put you in Lord Voldemort's favor quicker when he returns? You said he would kill you. That the fact you did not look for him would not go unpunished. Yes?"

"Yes, of course, but –"

"Then it seems to me that there is not much of an argument to be had."

Camellia's mouth snapped shut instantly. So many thoughts tumbled about in her head, but Camellia couldn't seem to find the words or motivation needed to fight back against Dumbledore's blatant insistence that she _help_ Peter Pettigrew find some way to restore the Dark Lord. That was absolute madness, or at least it should have been considered such. As Camellia looked helplessly between Severus and Dumbledore and then back again, she took in the serene expressions on both their faces. Thus, Camellia decided that she was on her own in her opinions. Perhaps her opinions had never mattered in the first place. It seemed now that instead of a request, Dumbledore had given her an order.

If Camellia wanted to remain out of the eye of the Ministry as Severus had by allying himself with the Headmaster, she had to obey. Camellia balled her hands into fists at her sides, aware now of the intricate trap she had walked into so stupidly by agreeing to return here. She was caught; there was nowhere to run.

But as far as cages went, Camellia thought Hogwarts to be a particularly beautiful one.

"I suppose you'll tell me when the time comes to contact the rat, then." Camellia snarled the statement through her teeth, unable to help herself. "If this is truly what you want me to do."

"I think it would be wise, considering your predicament," said Dumbledore. His voice was rather sympathetic for someone who Camellia felt was forcing her to sign her own death warrant, regardless of whether she eventually helped the Dark Lord keep an eye on her nephew. Camellia was under no pretenses as to what would be expected of her. This meant that she would have to lie to Voldemort, lead him astray and away from Harry's trail so that the boy could have more time to prepare himself for their inevitable encounter. If she happened to be caught, as all liars were eventually, the penalty would be death.

"Fine. Do what you wish, then. You always have." She retorted. "Now, _my_ motivation in answering your summons was to see Harry. Is someone going to take me to him?"

"Of course." Dumbledore agreed, rising from his chair for the first time since Camellia had entered his office. "But first, there is something I must attend to."

"And what is that?"

"Welcoming our guests, of course," said the Headmaster. "I trust that I will see you in the Great Hall, Severus?"

Severus gave a short nod of his head by way of an answer, refusing to meet Camellia's eye. She felt rather pathetic, as though she were desperate enough to turn to him for help. It seemed, however, that they were both in the same boat. They both were locked in the same elaborate cage, bound to whatever mercy Dumbledore chose to offer them because of the mistakes they made – the _Mark_ they both bore again.

"Where am I to be?" Camellia looked about frantically as Dumbledore made his way toward the large, stout door that led out into one of the main corridors. Severus watched his every move so as to join him momentarily.

"Listening very close by," Dumbledore remarked, his eyes twinkling in a familiar way. "I suspect it wouldn't be good for Harry if I ambushed him with you. All the students are making their way from their dormitories to the feast. I have asked Winky to bring you a meal from the kitchens and sit with you in one of the rooms to the left of the staff table."

Though she should have been particularly concerned about being in a room with a stranger, Camellia hardly gave it a thought. "Winky?" She questioned, unfamiliar with the name.

As if Camellia had summoned her, Winky, the house-elf, suddenly appeared in front of the hearth with a quiet _pop_ and a rather loud hiccough. Camellia raised a brow as she looked over the small house-elf. She was clothed in a tattered dress and swaying on her feet as if she had had far too much to drink. Severus huffed a sigh, but Dumbledore said nothing.

"I is to be taking Miss Evans with Winky, now," the little house-elf managed with another hiccough that seemed to nearly knock her off her feet. Camellia waited for more of an explanation, but Winky gave none. She only held up one of her small hands, reaching for Camellia so that they could be on their way. Camellia glanced once more at the Headmaster whom she caught gazing at the house-elf in such a way that made her think something dreadful had happened to her recently. Camellia made up her mind to go out of her way to be kind.

"Thank you," Camellia said. She smiled gently at Winky as she took the few steps across the room to stand next to her. Winky blinked up at her in genuine surprise before again stretching her fingers out toward Camellia. In the moment Camellia took Winky's hand, they vanished.

 **xxx**

This time around Apparating didn't leave Camellia doubled over in the floor, though she did feel incredibly nauseated for several minutes afterward. Winky hovered at her elbow, making absolutely sure that Camellia was well before she Disapparated to retrieve Camellia's dinner. Camellia could hear Dumbledore making his opening remarks just outside the door where she sat gratefully inhaling the food Winky had put before her.

After welcoming the guests from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute, Dumbledore sat back down at the staff table and began to calmly go about eating his dinner with the rest of the staff. The students, however, could be heard talking amongst themselves – speculating as to who would enter the tournament and who would not. After half an hour of this, Dumbledore stood once again just as the last plate had been wiped clean.

The anticipation of all in attendance was clear as all the students had fallen deathly silent the moment the Headmaster began to speak. Dumbledore began to "clarify" the procedure that was to be followed for the Tournament that year and introduced two guests whose names Camellia found herself _almost_ surprised to hear. Bartemius Crouch, who received an adequate amount of polite applause, and Ludo Bagman, the famous ex-Beater who received the louder reception by far. Camellia fought the urge to roll her eyes. She remembered Bagman and thought him to be particularly pompous and too fond of the fame that he had gained playing Quidditch.

According to Dumbledore's clarification, Ludo Bagman had switched from Beater to Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. A most fitting position for someone of his nature, Camellia thought.

Camellia stared at her empty plate lost in thought. Winky quickly took the plate from in front of Camellia and Disapparated back to the kitchens. Camellia expected Winky to return, but the house-elf remained absent. This left Camellia to listen to the rustling of robes and resentful muttering of those closest to her. They were clearly upset about the Age Line which Dumbledore had announced would be placed around the Goblet of Fire – the decider of the fate of those who were able to enter their names so they might be chosen as a champion for their school.

Some relief was to be had in the fact that those younger than seventeen could not enter their names. Camellia knew that this meant that Harry would be safe from whatever dangers awaited the champions in the Tournament. It was a notorious institution and not in a particularly good way. The last several Triwizard Tournaments had left one or more champions dead. The Tournament had been officially discontinued in 1792 so Camellia had never been witness to such a thing; she had only heard of it. But that was more than enough for her. While the revival of the Tournament was exciting for the students, the truth of the matter was that whoever was picked would be putting their life on the line for a title and a thousand Galleons. It was all very ridiculous if one thought about it long enough.

"Camellia?" McGonagall's voice startled Camellia out of her reverie. She stood up from her seat so quickly that she nearly knocked it over. The wooden legs of the armchair scratched against the floor and Camellia thoughtlessly put out her hand to steady the chair. The Transfiguration professor raised a severe eyebrow, causing Camellia to blush in embarrassment. "A little on edge, are you?"

"A little." She admitted. "Was Harry out there?"

"Yes. I have asked him to linger close by for a moment or two more. The rest of the students have gone to retire for the night. Should I ask him to come here, or would you rather wait until tomorrow? I would not blame you if you chose the latter. A good night's sleep might do you a world of good. Clear your head. Start fresh in the morning."

"If I didn't know you any better, Professor, I might think that you were trying to talk me _into_ waiting." Camellia said, causing McGonagall to flounder for a moment. It was unusual for someone other than Dumbledore to hit the nail right on the head where she was concerned.

"The boy is rather excited about the Tournament. I am afraid that when the two of you meet, Harry will have more than one emotion to sort through. And I know that will take quite some time. I understand that you feel you have waited long enough to see him, and perhaps you have. However, I would ask that you give Potter one more night. Let him sleep. And when he wakes in the morning, I will be sure to bring him to you. You may talk as long as you like then."

"If you think that would be best for Harry," Camellia began slowly, almost hesitantly, "then I suppose that's alright. If I could just have someone show me where I'll be staying, I think I will retire for the night. Maybe try to figure out what I might say to him."

McGonagall nodded her head in agreement, a sympathetic smile only just curling the corners of her lips. "Very good, then. I will tell Potter to return to his dormitory and come back to fetch you."

Camellia allowed the professor to disappear through the doorway without another word. She sat back down in the chair she had inhabited previously. Camellia gave a great sigh and her shoulders slumped as if weighed down by some invisible force – much as she imagined Atlas' shoulders had in the myths in which he quite literally held the weight of the world. In the moment, Camellia would have much preferred holding up the sky rather than to be where she was. Looking up at the empty room, listening for a sound outside of it and hearing nothing, Camellia decided that it might be alright to venture out and explore the Great Hall for a few moments.

She shuffled quietly to the door and poked her head around the corner in a cautious manner, scanning the room for any signs of life. Finding none, Camellia stepped out and took a small breath. The pleasant scent of roast chicken and pumpkin juice pervaded the air, bringing back memories that Camellia didn't know she still possessed. Memories of Lily and James and of the Marauders. Sirius twirling her about the courtyard, mocking James as he stared after her sister. A young, studious Remus Lupin rolling his eyes behind reading glasses that were a bit too large for his face, hair hanging all over his forehead as he diligently completed his assignments. Despite never really caring for Peter Pettigrew, Camellia remembered lots of laughter, plenty of joy. There wasn't much to be had anymore.

Camellia's relationship with the group had suffered greatly when she caught them tormenting the boy who had grown into the current Potions professor, Severus Snape. Perhaps it was her own foolish love for the three boys that kept her from seeing how cruel they could be. Camellia wasn't an advocate for bullying, whatever might have provoked it. James had always been jealous and judgmental of the friendship Lily had had with Severus despite being friends with a Slytherin himself. And James could see, as could Camellia, that as the years progressed, Severus' feelings for Lily deepened into something far more.

It was the Marauders who kept Camellia sane as she was tormented by her fellow Slytherins over her blood status as the years wore on. That was probably the only reason other than Lily that Camellia was able to be friends with the Gryffindors. Still, it took Camellia a long time to get over what they had done.

Camellia crossed her arms over her chest, bracing herself against the chill that seemed to sweep through the room. The ceiling of the Great Hall, normally so alive, seemed as though it had gone to rest when the students and staff departed. Even so, Camellia could detect a faint twinkle above her like that of the stars in the sky. When footsteps sounded behind her, Camellia didn't feel the need to look away. The sight put her oddly at peace in a place where she should have been on her guard.

"I wondered when you would be back," she said, thinking that the person who had strode so boldly into the Great Hall was McGonagall. Camellia was greatly mistaken.

A rough hand reached out and grabbed her arm with enough force to bruise the skin. Camellia was turned around to come face to face with Igor Karkaroff, his eyes ablaze with a fury she had never seen in them.

"I knew you were here," He hissed. "I could feel your filthy presence all throughout the feast. Finally decided to come crawling back, have you?"

"Let go of me," Camellia spat, attempting to twist her arm from his increasingly tight grasp to no avail. "I said, _let go_!"

"Why should you escape punishment while I was sent to Azkaban for my crimes?" Karkaroff demanded.

"I do not see you assaulting Snape this way, Karkaroff. Is it because you fear him?" Camellia asked. She met his gaze with emotionless eyes though her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. "You, the coward who turned in the names of those who called you friend in order to buy your own freedom."

Karkaroff released her arm and recoiled as if she had physically struck him. "I should have given them your name."

"Far too late for that, I should think." Camellia brushed off his bitter threat with ease. "And I do wonder what will happen when the Dark Lord makes his return." Karkaroff paled considerably, giving Camellia the confidence she knew she would need if she were to make a convincing threat against him. "I know you feel it as I do. The Mark returns. And I do doubt that the rest of the Death Eaters will be much pleased with your betraying them in such a way. I will be very surprised if you last even three more years, Karkaroff."

"You should be the one who fears him most." Karkaroff roared, eyes wild with terror. "You hid from him when he needed you most. You will answer for your disloyalty."

"As will you." She retorted. "Though my 'disloyalty', as you say, does not run nearly as deep as yours. At least _I_ will keep my head."

Karkaroff drew back his hand as if to strike Camellia across the face, but he never had the chance. A familiar hand caught Karkaroff's arm with ease. As the Headmaster of Durmstrang turned, Camellia was able to see who had intervened.

"I do not think it wise to raise your hand to a soon-to-be acting professor while you are a guest here, Professor Karkaroff," McGonagall said, mouth set into a disapproving line. Camellia felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash rush over her at the sight of the Transfiguration professor. She knew that Karkaroff wouldn't dare utter a word more of her treachery or of the Dark Lord in McGonagall's presence.

Karkaroff said nothing. He only removed his arm from McGonagall's grasp, turned on his heel, and strode toward the front doors.

McGonagall turned her attention to Camellia, some of the severity in her face fading away. "Do tell me if he tries to cause any more trouble. Not everyone is as well-mannered as the English."

Camellia's mouth twitched in a smile. "Of course."

With a nod of her head, McGonagall beckoned Camellia to follow. She led Camellia out into the main corridor and up one flight of a long procession of stairs. They journeyed upward until they reached Camellia's room. McGonagall apologized for the smallness of it and promised that Camellia would be moved to more suitable living quarters in the morning, but Camellia hardly heard her. And as soon as the professor had excused herself for the night, Camellia collapsed on the bed with an audible sigh. She buried her face in one of the pillows.

With thoughts of tomorrow on her mind, Camellia surrendered to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**xxx**

 **03 | harry**

 **xxx**

The next morning Camellia awakened to the pleasant aroma of a traditional English breakfast. Camellia stretched under the fluffy white covers that stubbornly rose like baking bread each time she tried to push them down. Prying open her bleary eyes after a yawn, Camellia spied the tray of steaming food on the small table next to her bed. It was a magnificent sight, reminding her distinctly of home. Bacon, scrambled eggs, fried mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, toast with butter, sausages and baked beans.

Camellia had to make a conscious effort to keep her mouth closed so she wouldn't drool. She ate in record time, poring over the newest edition of the _Daily Prophet_ that had been stuck under the tray. As she did, a strange sensation overtook her. Camellia had not realized until that moment just how much she had missed her life in the wizarding world. Perhaps she had tried not to think about it too often. After all, Camellia had learned from experience that it was best not to mourn things that you couldn't change. That particular kind of grief created holes in your heart that eventually became too large to fill. If Camellia took the time to tally her losses, there would be nothing left at all.

She tossed aside the newspaper with a sigh and looked about the room. She spied her suitcase in the corner – thankfully, it wasn't still in Dumbledore's office. Camellia couldn't imagine making the trek in the middle of the morning amidst all the students looking like she had only just rolled out of bed. She had just rolled out of bed, but it did _not_ need to be common knowledge. The previous night had been the first in more than a decade that she had passed without interruption. Shockingly, there had been no nightmares. No lying wide awake obsessing over the threat of the Dark Lord's return. When it wasn't he she worried about, it was other Death Eaters. Camellia was honestly surprised that she had been permitted to still draw breath, as so many of them hated her. Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, some of the more vocal radical pure blood supremacists, were among the ones she could best remember. Strangely, they were the ones she would have most cared to forget.

Severus she had seen in passing. They never spoke, never cared to. At the time, Camellia could remember Lily worrying that he had joined the Death Eaters, going on and on about the company he kept after she had drawn closer to James. Specifically, two boys by the names of Avery and Mulciber. Once Camellia felt that she'd heard enough of them to last a lifetime, she told her sister to let it go - that whatever Severus was doing was none of her business. Lily was so angry by her apparent lack of concern that she didn't speak to Camellia for two weeks afterward. Then came the day when, during a particularly nasty stunt on James' part, Severus was humiliated in front of Lily. When Lily came to his defense Severus had snapped at her, calling her a mudblood. This term was especially foul and offensive to Muggle-born witches or wizards. It was used to point out what some people felt to be lower breeding and implied that an individual had dirty blood and was therefore undeserving of magic.

No matter how much Camellia tried to persuade Lily to forgive him, though Severus was not one to freely offer up apologies, Lily disregarded her and never spoke to Severus again. That was the last straw for Camellia who spent most of her time after that being furious with Sirius and James, even Remus. This was mainly on principle, since she couldn't see Remus without seeing the rest of James' band of Merry Men. Sirius had managed to maneuver his way back into her good graces right before they graduated Hogwarts, but Camellia never truly mended things with James. This was something she now regretted.

What was she supposed to tell her nephew when he asked about his parents? Surely, he would have questions. Who wouldn't? Camellia would have to make a conscious effort to gloss over her strained relationship with his father. Talking to Harry about Lily would be difficult, but it would be good to look back on some of the better times they shared before the First Wizarding War. If Harry asked about that, he would be out of luck though. Camellia had already made up her mind that she was never going to speak of it again, not if she didn't have to. If Harry truly wanted to know, he could write to Sirius. She was more than certain that he would give Harry enough bits and pieces of the puzzle to keep him satisfied.

Camellia chewed on her bottom lip as she went over her options for conversation, thinking that none of them sounded incredibly wonderful. The war was out. The topic of Harry's parents would be a slim one, indeed. And as for Camellia's absence from his life and leaving him with her horrible sister, how did she explain that? Where in the world did she begin? Camellia put a hand to her throat, noting the way her skin seemed to burn a hundred degrees hotter than what was normal for a human being. She could feel anxiety taking root in her like a poison, squeezing the air from her lungs. Camellia rather felt that she was being dropped from the top of a tall building with no hope or prayer of being caught before she hit bottom.

Hands trembling slightly as her imagination ran wild, Camellia rushed across the room and grabbed her suitcase. She carried it back to the bed and tossed it on top of the cover, digging through it with abandon until she found something suitable. Thirty minutes and eight outfits later, Camellia finally settled on something semi-professional. And then she rethought that, wondering if looking too professional would frighten Harry or at the very least make him uncomfortable.

Camellia wanted Harry to feel like he could treat her as family rather than the disappearing, uptight magic act that he would certainly take her for at first. It was Halloween and tonight would be the choosing of the champions for the Triwizard Tournament. It should have been an exciting time for her nephew, but it seemed she had shown up just in time to spoil all of his fun.

A knock sounded on her door just as Camellia finished arranging her robes. She had found them hanging in the wardrobe, courtesy of Dumbledore she was sure. She looked up just in time to see the door open and watched mutely as McGonagall hurried inside and closed the door gently behind her.

"Are you quite ready?" She questioned, clasping her hands together in front of her as she eyed Camellia dubiously. "You seem..."

"Not ready. I know." Camellia huffed exasperatedly. "It took me half an hour to settle on _this_ ," she whipped open the heavy robe to reveal an emerald green blouse and an ankle long, ink-black skirt. "I'll look like the Slytherin from hell come to haunt him."

McGonagall shook her head with a soft sigh. "You must calm down. I understand that this is an ordeal for you, but in the end Potter will have family again. Keep that in mind."

"If he wants me to be." Camellia muttered. "I will be absolutely gobsmacked if he does not make up his mind to be furious with me for the rest of his life."

"For a time, perhaps he will be. But for now, you cannot waste energy worrying over it. Compose yourself – _breathe_. It will turn out alright in the end." McGonagall hesitated as Camellia went about fixing her robes again, smoothing her hair into place one last time. "Though, it would do well to keep in mind that Potter has not had much luck with the Slytherin students these last few years."

McGonagall's comment about Harry's problems with the Slytherins concerned her greatly. Even so, Camellia made a mental note to exclude her House from conversation. Then the issue of her clothes came to mind, since variations of green, grey, and black were most of what she had in her wardrobe. Perhaps Camellia would even go shopping over the weekend. Unfortunately, her list of safe topics to discuss with Harry was diminishing by the second. Camellia put a hand to her throat and attempted to swallow, but found her throat was completely dry.

Camellia wished desperately that she could calm down, but she doubted that would be even remotely possible until her visit with Harry was well and truly over. Camellia spared McGonagall a quick glance and saw that she was patiently waiting for Camellia to compose herself before they left to meet Harry.

"Where is he?" Camellia asked, fidgeting with her robes one last time.

"In the Headmaster's office." McGonagall answered primly. "I doubt you will be disturbed. Classes are rather light in content today because of the choosing of the champions that is to take place this evening, as you know. The work Potter misses will be given to him tomorrow, and I am sure one of his friends will be more than glad to help him if there is something he does not seem to grasp."

Camellia stopped fidgeting. "Friends?"

McGonagall nodded and if Camellia did not know any better, she thought for a moment she saw the beginnings of a smile turn the corners of the professor's lips skyward. "Two close friends, to be precise. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. He is not alone here, Camellia. In fact, he is doing quite well."

The knowledge that Harry had _someone_ , anyone at all, made Camellia feel the tiniest bit better about what lay ahead. She hoped that Harry would do his best to understand. Maybe he wouldn't be able to. Camellia knew she would have to leave so much of her past out of the equation that it would be almost like Harry didn't know her at all. Perhaps that was best for now. If Dumbledore's ridiculous plan ever put him in danger, it would be more helpful for Harry to be clueless than it would for him to be informed. It might even save his life. And by extension, it could also save Camellia's.

Camellia took a deep breath that didn't seem to quite fill her lungs and nodded.

"Good." She said finally. "I think I am ready to see him now."

With a sharp nod of her head, McGonagall turned on her heel and led Camellia from the room. As they walked, Camellia was aware of how tense her former professor seemed. Whether it was from the upcoming ceremony in which the Triwizard champions would be chosen, or from the uncertainty of the outcome of her meeting with Harry, Camellia couldn't tell.

Either way, it didn't matter much. Camellia was more than glad to have someone else know almost exactly how she felt without saying a word. They walked in complete silence through the empty hallways of the school until they reached the door of Dumbledore's office.

"Remember to breathe." McGonagall murmured, hand on the knob.

Before Camellia could say a word, the professor opened the door.

 **xxx**

For a moment or two, Camellia couldn't bring herself to move. And then, she somehow managed to wake her numbed limbs. She stumbled into Dumbledore's office, flinching slightly when McGonagall closed the door roughly behind her. An unruly mop of dark hair was all she could see from where she stood, staring at the chair that Harry was sat in. It was just like his father's. She braced herself for more similarities, but nothing could have prepared her for just how alike he was to both James and Lily.

Harry stood from his seat and turned, mouth open in an attempt to defend himself for some imagined wrong. He froze mid-step when his eyes landed on Camellia. It seemed to Camellia that both she and Harry had the air stolen from their lungs at about the same moment, each for different reasons. For Harry, it was most likely the fact that Camellia strongly resembled his mother. And for Camellia, it was the fact that Harry had James' hair, even his build, but his eyes... his eyes were Lily's.

"Who are you?" Harry asked quickly, regaining use of his tongue much faster than Camellia could have ever dreamed. She was still obviously floored, blinking heavily with her mouth opening and closing like an idiot. "Where's Professor Dumbledore?"

Camellia shook herself free of whatever spell was keeping her from putting Harry at ease and ran a hand through her hair that she had tried so hard to fix only half an hour before. "I think you should sit back down." A wry chuckle left her mouth before she could stop it. " _I_ need to sit down."

"Who _are_ you?" Harry demanded, more forcefully this time.

"Your aunt." Camellia blurted and immediately wished she had remained mute on the subject until she'd had a chance to seat herself and coax Harry to do the same. The boy paled, but he was immediately adamant with her.

"I only have one aunt. She lives in Surrey."

"Harry..." Camellia sighed and walked over to the chair opposite the one he'd occupied and plopped herself down. "My name is Camellia. Your mother, my sister, Lily and I came to school here together. I know the aunt you mean. Petunia. My other sister."

Harry blinked. He was torn between confusion and outrage, but he decided to follow Camellia's example. He sat down, shoulders slumping as he leaned against the back and stared at her quietly for a long moment.

"Why did no one ever tell me about you?" He asked.

"For the same reason that, I assume, Petunia never told you about Hogwarts." She answered gently. "After Lily and I went away to school, we never had the same relationship with her that we once had before we received our invitations."

"How did you know she never told me?"

"A surprisingly lucky guess." Camellia said. "I know... you must have questions. And you _can_ ask them of me. I will do my best to answer what I can, and I –"

"You knew I was with her, didn't you? Petunia." Harry said, interrupting her attempt at reconciliation. This was going to be so much more difficult than Camellia had originally thought. It was becoming glaringly clear by the minute. "You knew I was with her, and you never came for me – never even came to _see_ me."

 _There it is_ , Camellia thought. The one obstacle that she doubted she could overcome. Her heart broke the moment she was able to tear her eyes away from her lap and truly look at Harry's face. The look of absolute betrayal she saw there was enough to send her running. This was a mistake. _This was a mistake_.

"I would have." She said sternly, catching his attention. "Harry, believe me. I would have loved nothing more than to have had you with me all these years. But the further away you were from the wizarding world, the better. Petunia was the obvious choice when it came to keeping you safe."

Camellia was nearly satisfied with the way she had answered Harry's accusation. The statement was not a _complete_ lie, but there was just enough untruth to make her uneasy. Harry would find out eventually about everything she had done. Just not today.

"Why come back now, then?" The boy ignored her insistence and cut right to the chase. And how was she to answer _that_? "You didn't do it for me."

"I would like to, if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive my absence, be your family." Camellia began, quite sincerely. "I did come back for you." She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the door was still shut before leaning forward in her chair. "Sirius wrote to me. I know that you have been having dreams of sorts, about –"

"You're in touch with Sirius?" Harry questioned, wide-eyed.

Camellia huffed. "Do you _ever_ let a person finish their sentence?" Harry ducked his head, looking a bit sheepish before Camellia sucked in an exasperated breath and continued. "Is your scar hurting you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head forcefully. "No."

She watched him warily, noticing the way his eyes didn't quite meet hers as he nearly spat the word at her. "I suppose I will come back to that." Camellia murmured, letting him slide for the time being. "Sirius wrote to me and told me to come here. He did tell me some things, but gave little or no detail surrounding them. I would love it very much if you told me about yourself. Your friends, maybe? And about what has happened to you since you came here. I know that it certainly has not been without a certain... _charm_."

Harry snorted derisively under his breath. "If by charm, you mean having constant dealings with death three years in a row, then yeah. I guess this place is oozing with it."

Camellia raised a brow. "Well... how about starting from the beginning?"

There was a long pause. Harry stopped twiddling his thumbs in his lap just long enough to sit up straight and look Camellia in the eye. She wondered what he was looking for and how it contradicted what he was really seeing in her. If he was looking for a mother, Camellia knew he would be sorely disappointed. She was not and never would be Lily. But if Harry were simply looking for someone he could confide in, someone he could love and who would love him in return, someone would do her absolute best to stay by his side always, then Camellia figured she might just have a chance. Harry studied her for what seemed an eternity, those green eyes of his seeming like they could see right through her, right into her past. Camellia fought the overwhelming urge to look away from him in an attempt to hide the shame that she could feel rising up within her. She had to remind herself that he didn't know. There was no possible way he could know.

But perhaps he did. Or maybe he sensed something off about her... or, as McGonagall had said, maybe it would take much longer than Camellia had hoped for Harry to put aside his anger toward her. The boy stood abruptly, hands curling into fists at his sides. He opened his mouth to deliver what Camellia considered the final blow.

"I don't _know_ you." Harry said flatly, his gaze having turned remarkably icy. Camellia could sense whatever progress she had made slipping away. Before she could reach out to him, open her mouth to protest, to _beg_ , Harry had walked out of the room.

Harry's exit was quiet and rather undramatic compared to what he _could_ have done. Camellia wished he had shouted more. Screamed, even. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she deserved that and more. The boy's silent disappearance from the Headmaster's office stole the very breath from Camellia's lungs, as if he had been a tempest and she something in his path that had only just escaped being obliterated.

There was relief to be had, but not much. Camellia sat absolutely still in her chair. She wanted to cry, but she had no tears left to spare after so many years of heartache. There was only quiet resignation. Minutes passed; her eyes never once left the door.

Camellia thought her nephew might reappear at any moment to give her a second chance. But, he didn't. Harry was obviously going to make her work for his forgiveness. Camellia sat alone in one of Dumbledore's voluminous armchairs for an hour, waiting.

Harry never came back.


End file.
